


Recovery

by AmandaKitswell



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Light Angst, Mutual Pining, Pining, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-11-10 01:30:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11117046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmandaKitswell/pseuds/AmandaKitswell
Summary: Nearly killed during the battle against the archdemon, Arais Amell has only just come out of a coma. Teagan Guerrin struggles against the demons of his past and those he still faces in the present, while trying to come to terms with feelings Arais awoke the night before they marched on Denerim.





	Recovery

******_2 Solace, 9:31 Dragon_ **

The blood rushed through her ears with the roar of river rapids, deafening in the silence. There was a sharp, pulsing ache at the base of her skull, and it radiated forward until just the thought of opening her eyes made her sick to her stomach. 

Footsteps broke through the raging quiet, followed by whispered words Arais couldn’t discern through the fog the pain cast over her. Her heart began to race when she was unable to identify to whom the voices belonged. The longer she listened, however, the more familiar they became, and she began to relax. 

One person sat beside Arais, and when the bed sank beneath their weight, her body followed, and even such a slight motion made her head spin. She could feel the earth shift beneath her and send her stomach into her throat with a lurch. She grimaced, and a hoarse whimper slipped past her lips, low and feeble. Her whole head throbbed with each violent beat of her heart. 

The voices fell silent. A gentle hand pressed against her forehead, and she felt the tingle of magic as it brushed against her own. Another hand slid around to the back of her neck, and a warm aura enveloped and rushed through her, and there was immediate relief. The silence stretched on, an eternity she could happily embrace as the pain began to recede into a more bearable soreness. 

The hands left her, one reaching down to take hold of her wrist. The voices returned in hushed whispers, and even with the pain diminished as it was, she was still too exhausted to strain her ears to hear what they said. It was with a deep reluctance she allowed her eyes to flutter open, and she struggled to adjust to the low light cast by the torches.

At first all she saw were three silhouettes. A woman sat beside her, head turned to look at the others in the room. Her gray hair was held in a bun at the back of her head, tendrils falling loose to frame her oval face, and her robes were the deep red of a senior enchanter’s.

It had to be Wynne.

A man leaned forward at the foot of the bed, shoulders tensed and head bowed low. His long hair cloaked his face, the loose strands gilded by the firelight. Still, she could see the smooth sheen of the Dalish gloves drawn tight over his fingers as they squeezed the bed frame. 

Zevran.

Yet another man stood beside Zevran, partially obscured by the bedpost. His back was rigid, his hands joined at the back of his neck as her stared at the ceiling. As her vision cleared some, she saw his eyes close as he released a heavy sigh, his arms falling back to his sides while he stretched his neck. Even as he sagged against the bedpost, he was still nearly a full head taller than Zevran. Maker, but he was tall. 

He was definitely familiar, but his name did not come as easily as the others.

It was he who first noticed her eyes had opened. The hand which was not braced on the bed for balance motioned toward her, before it moved to tangle in his already untidy auburn hair. 

Wynne spoke louder, and Arais was sure whatever she said was an attempt to get Arais’ attention. She found she still couldn’t make out the words, however, as if they were being spoken underwater. Zevran looked up, and Wynne’s commands became slightly more urgent even as they remained gentle. Arais glanced at Wynne, but she found herself drawn back to the man whose name escaped her, and to the way his composure seemed to falter further the longer she remained silent.

Her chest constricted at his expression, at the idea of being the cause of anyone’s concern. Her lips parted as she tried to speak, but she found her throat too dry to produce little more than a croak. Wynne spoke again, and both men moved to either side of her to sit her up. Wynne pressed a goblet to her lips, and she shivered as she took a sip. The water was cool as she drank, and for a moment, her eyes fluttered closed, and she relished the feeling of it against her parched throat. 

She was certain, however, that no amount of water could quench her thirst when the goblet left her lips. Her training as a healer reminded her too much water now could settle poorly and cause her to vomit, but she didn't care. She tried to follow the cup, but the sharp ache at the base of her skull reminded her she couldn't move too fast. Tears welled up and overflowed before she could will them away.

She was eased onto her back, and a calloused thumb - gentle and familiar - brushed a tear from the hollow of her cheek. She looked over at the man who knelt beside the bed, his hand still on her cheek, and focused on gentle blue eyes. A whisper of a memory, of comfort and kindness and a kiss cut much too short, caressed the edges of her conscious.

"Teagan," she whispered.

All the air seemed to leave his body in a single, long sigh. He nodded and took her hand in his, and had Zevran not muttered his own relieved utterance in Antivan, she might have forgotten there was anyone else in the room with them. She held Teagan’s gaze and brushed her fingers across his cheek, surprised to feel moisture there.

The ache in her head returned, swift and punishing, and her hand fell back to her side. She closed her eyes, and lights flashed bright and blinding in the darkness. She was turned on her side by gentle hands; perhaps whoever turned her believed she would not be able to keep the water down. While it did not settle comfortably in her belly, there was no immediate urge to reject it. 

The consciousness she clung to rapidly became a burden, and she felt panic bubble in her chest at the idea of falling asleep, terrified she may not be recovered enough to wake again. A rough hand enveloped her own, and her weak fingers tightened in a feeble attempt to ground herself. As she finally succumbed to the exhaustion of her damaged body, words came to her, again as if through water, barely intelligible.

“Rest, Arais. It will be fine.”

* * *

_ It has to be. _

The hand he held in his went limp. There was a moment when rational thought failed him and Teagan was sure the worst had come to pass, and he felt lightheaded as he lost his breath. It didn’t return until Wynne had urged him to leave his place beside Arais, had taken her wrist in between gentle fingers and assured him her pulse remained, stronger than it had been since they first found her after the battle.

Maker, but was this the last thing he had expected when she had come to the Chantry with Tomas. Ferelden, perhaps even all of Thedas, had called on her to save it, but she had taken the time to rescue one small village. There had been no half measures, and when the sun had risen and only Lloyd had perished, he saw for the first time just how remarkable she was. And as rumors poured in from across the country, of curses broken and needless bloodshed averted - all attributed to her efforts - he found himself in awe of her. 

She had stood beside Anora, first at the Landsmeet, and then at the gates of Denerim, and not once had she swayed from what she believed was right. He found himself at the receiving end of none too few of his brother’s rants on this topic, and he had grown weary of listening to Eamon go on about how she had betrayed Alistair to put a usurper on the throne. Teagan had asserted on more than one occasion he would support Arais’ decision to put Anora on the throne, and yet even with Eamon’s initial outrage, Teagan’s dissent would soon be forgotten, and mere days later he would have to listen to his brother’s complaints yet again.

There was no sense in arguing with his brother any longer; Teagan had his doubts, not of Alistair’s  _ ability _ to lead, but his  _ desire _ to do so. That was, until the Warden Riordan had suggested Loghain be conscripted, and Arais had accepted. 

Perhaps at first Teagan had not agreed with her decision. She was far more merciful than he could have been in her position. With time to think on it, if she had conceded to Alistair’s change of heart, it might not have been the best choice; if not for Ferelden, then for Alistair himself. While he lamented Alistair’s exile, Arais knew him as an adult better than Teagan, and perhaps the decision was more sensible than he could have known.

She seemed to have an instinct for that, for bringing about the most desirable, if not the most expedient outcome to a situation. His brother - for all his complaints, for all his objections to her actions - owed Arais his life, and the lives of both his wife and son. So did Teagan, and he knew full well he held enough gratitude to more than make up for his brother’s mulish arrogance. 

Zevran shifted on the bed beside Arais, drawing Teagan from his thoughts. He watched him for a time. Zevran gently stroked the hair back from Arais’ face, and wiped away an errant tear which glittered in the firelight. His fingers lingered upon her cheek, his lips twisted into a deep frown.

Teagan had seen them interact before, had realized how close they were almost as soon as they arrived in Redcliffe after the Landsmeet. He had suspected they might be involved at first, and rightfully so. The first few nights in Redcliffe, before the march on Denerim, he had seen Zevran wandering up to the guest wing with her late in the night, and each instance had been the same; his arm around her shoulders, holding her tight to him.

Then she had found him that last night, had talked with him for hours, and when she kissed him . . . Maker, it had been too long since he had felt the way she had made him feel then. It was passion and fire and warmth. Just to remember her lips on his, the taste of peppermint which had lingered on his lips for hours, was enough to tighten his chest with longing. 

Many times before, though, he had involved himself in clandestine affairs, and he would back down when Eamon voiced his disapproval. When Arais had distanced herself, had become so engrossed in her own thoughts and what had happened between them seemed like a distant memory, he panicked. Even though every last bit of him had been drawn to her, and he had wanted nothing more than to keep her close. Just one night with her he could have cherished should anything have happened, but it was the very real risk of losing her which made him leave.

And when risk had nearly become reality, and Sten had carried her unconscious form over the threshold of Fort Drakon, all he had felt was terror and regret, and he had agonized over it since. Perhaps he gave himself away by spending what time he could with her, but how could he not care when he had very nearly allowed someone he had come to care for so deeply slip through his fingers?

Eamon had been the first to suspect his brother’s feelings were far from platonic. True to form, he made plain his objections to how much attention Teagan had been giving Arais. He had been subsequently rebuffed as Teagan found himself too tired to engage his brother’s prejudices.

Teagan noticed Arais begin to stir as she slept, her shoulders tensed as she rolled onto her back. Her lips curved into a frown and her brow furrowed. When her mouth fell open and a whimper slipped between ashen lips, he felt his heart constrict. Wynne approached the side of the bed, but made no move to tend to Arais. He might have said something had she not looked equally as pained as he. 

“There are nightmares she experiences from time to time,” Zevran explained in a hushed voice; he must have read the concern on Teagan’s face. “We had hoped they would improve when the archdemon was slain, but . . . it seems that will not be the case.”

“That’s not necessarily true,” Wynne said, her tone even, almost soothing. “Her head injury could be behind this nightmare; we won’t know if it has anything to do with her being a Warden until she wakes again. For now, she needs rest.”

“As do you.” Zevran’s eyes were stern. “You haven’t had a proper night’s rest in ages; at least since we ceased our travels.”

She fixed him with a steady glare. “I can hardly afford to -”

“Yes, you can,” he interrupted. “I will be here to fetch you, should she wake, but you will be of no use to her as tired as you are.”

She let out a huff of disapproval, but her shoulders slumped. “I do hate admitting when you’re right.”

“I know,” he said, a gentle, teasing smile on his lips. “Now go. Rest.”

There was a resigned sort of gratitude in her eyes as she stared at Zevran. When she turned to leave, every bit of her weariness seemed to weigh her down. There was no question Zevran had been right, and what she sorely needed was to sleep, and likely for a good long while. 

The hand in his tightened, so softly he might not have felt it had he not been holding as tight as he was, and Teagan turned, expecting her to be awake once again. But when he found her still wearing the mask of a woman suffering a nightmare, he could feel himself physically deflate.

“Is everything all right?” Zevran asked.

“Yes, I just thought . . .” Teagan trailed off, unsure how to answer. When he looked up at Zevran, he found himself being scrutinized, almost uncomfortably so. The energy he had left was sapped from his body, and he wondered just how long he had been running on adrenaline alone to be as tired as he now was. “Perhaps Wynne is not the only one who needs to rest.”

With a haggard smile, Zevran was no longer able to hide his own exhaustion. “True enough.” He stretched out on the bed, slow and lithe, and managed to not disturb Arais. “Go. As I told Wynne, I will stay here. If anything should happen, I will come for you as well.” 

Teagan looked at the distressed set of Arais’ brow as she slept. He wanted to be there for her, but he knew he couldn’t be overtired. It wouldn’t do either of them any good. He brushed his thumb along her dry, cracked knuckles, and part of him hoped she might respond, might squeeze his hand again to show she sensed his presence.

He suppressed the pang of disappointment when she didn’t.

“She has survived worse than this,” Zevran said, his voice low and comforting. 

Teagan looked up at him, and there was a quiet understanding which seemed to pass between them. He wasn’t sure what it meant, but it didn’t fill him with a sense of disquiet like it maybe should have. 

“We spent a long time in the Deep Roads,” Zevran continued. “Months, I believe, with far fewer resources than we have here, now. There was a . . . horrible monster - one which the darkspawn use to breed, I suppose - in the darkest tunnels beyond Orzammar where only the Legion of the Dead dare go now.

“The beast lifted her off the ground and threw her against one of the walls. We can’t be sure how long she was unconscious. The next time she woke - and she  _ did _ wake again, much like this - she fought through the rest of the way with a broken arm Wynne had to rebreak to set. 

“I have never seen a mage wield their staff with one arm before, and it was quite the sight to behold, let me tell you.” Zevran looked down at her with a subdued sort of reverence. “I have never met a stronger, more stubborn woman in my life. It probably wouldn’t be wise to tell you how many other times she put her life in danger to save the lives of others.”

“The high dragon at the Temple of Sacred Ashes comes to mind,” Teagan said, the rumor which out from the many he remembered hearing during the Blight. 

Zevran chuckled. “Ah, yes. That was an accident, if I’m to be honest. There was a cult living in Haven, and we were forced to kill them in order to reach the ashes. One of their leaders had a horn strapped to his hip, and before he died, he managed to use it. It made an awful sound, the kind that shook you to the bone. 

“Perhaps we should have had the forethought to consider they were dragon worshippers, and the horn  _ might _ summon a high dragon. Alas, we did not. Nor were any of the cultists alive to warn us, should they have felt the inclination to do so.

“It was good we had Sten with us, then,” he continued. “He knew quite a bit about how to maneuver through a dragon fight. A Qunari talent, I suspect. Regardless, it was impressive. We all came out relatively unscathed, though Alistair complained for weeks about being unable to get his hair quite right after it got singed.” 

The smile fell from Zevran’s face, and the look he cast down at Arais was grief-stricken. 

“His anger will subside in time,” Teagan said in a low voice. “It may not have been what he wanted, but it was Arais’ decision. And, if Loghain’s actions since are to be any indication, she made the right one for Ferelden.”

“You assume Alistair will live long enough to forgive. He is a capable warrior, yes, but he spent a year traveling with the rest of us. On his own, he could have been overwhelmed more easily.”

“The hoard had yet to reach Denerim when Anora made her decision. Assuming he left the country from the port in Amaranthine, he ran no real risk of darkspawn attacks.”

Zevran glanced up at him, and a spark of cynicism burned in tawny eyes. “And what of Howe’s allies? Do you not think they will retaliate against one of their arl’s murderers?”

“No doubt they will, but all the northern banns were in Denerim when Alistair was ordered to leave. There would have been no time to arrange an attack on his life outside the capital.” Teagan fixed Zevran with an almost teasing look. “As an assassin, I’m surprised you hadn’t already considered as much.”

“I’m going to choose to ignore your jab at my skills,” he said, but though he sounded wounded, his lips turned up in a surprised smile. Even so, when he sighed, it was a resigned, almost relieved sound, and he closed his eyes. “You are right, though. Alistair is likely safe in another country as we speak; it is only a matter of finding him.”

“Indeed,” Teagan said. It was with no small amount of reluctance when he released Arais’ hand and stood. He looked at Zevran, who seemed equally as exhausted, with dark circles beneath eyes slow to open when he blinked. “Are you going to be all right by yourself?”

“Wynne will return shortly, I am sure,” Zevran replied. “She never did sleep as much as she should during the Blight, and I am certain tonight will be no different. Until then, if I fall asleep and Arais wakes in that time, it will not be the first time she has found me beside her.” 

Teagan’s heart clenched, and he wondered if he had been wrong about his own relationship with her. He quirked an eyebrow in what he hoped to be surprised curiosity.

Zevran laughed in response, and there was an odd, knowing glimmer in his eye as he studied Teagan. 

He seemed to consider for a moment, and silence stretched on for what felt like ages as Zevran’s lips turned up in an amused smirk. “I feel I may have implied an intimacy to my relationship with Arais we don’t share,” he said when he at last spoke, and it was not without a lilt of humor in his voice. Humor which, Teagan noticed, did not quite reach his eyes.

“I have noticed you are rather close,” Teagan said. 

“We are close, yes, but not in the way I suspect you believe. We are friends; nothing more.” When he continued, his voice was light, teasing. “Besides,  _ I _ am not the one she kissed in the kitchens.”

“Oh.” He cast his eyes downward. “I was not aware anyone knew about that, aside from Loghain.”

“Ah, yes, I did wonder what our newest Warden had been doing out of his quarters so late,” he said. Teagan looked up at him, surprised, but Zevran only offered a subtle shrug in response. “I had been in the servants’ quarters, and was in fact on my way up to the guest wing to check on Arais when I happened upon you two. I crossed paths with Loghain shortly after.” 

Zevran’s expression morphed into something enigmatic, a cross between dejection and amusement. “Loghain has not said anything about what he saw, as far as I am aware, and neither have I. Your secret is safe.”

“What secret?” Teagan asked, and suddenly Zevran’s demeanor made sense. Did he truly believe Teagan so callous as to be ashamed? Teagan bristled at the mere implication, the memory of his brother’s objections ringing in his ears. “What happened that night,” he began, his voice low, but firm, “I only kept to myself out of respect for her. Enough grief has befallen Arais due to the rumors of her actions during the Blight; I refuse to add to it by fueling idle gossip.”

The mirth had drained from Zevran’s face, and, taken aback, he stared at Teagan as if he had been slapped. “I did not mean to suggest . . .” He fell silent and looked away. His lips pulled into a thin line, brows knitted together in something like frustration, annoyance, and - upset as he was - Teagan sensed neither feeling was directed at him. 

When Zevran looked back to him, his expression relaxed. “I apologize, Bann Teagan. It was a poor choice of words. I only meant . . . well, I would rather avoid the idle gossip, as well. For her sake.” He looked at Teagan with that odd, almost sullen understanding. “I am well aware you have no intention of hurting her.” His lips quirked up in a self-deprecating grin. “Far less so than myself when she and I first met at any rate.”

Teagan found himself unable to remain upset, baffled as he was by the way Zevran’s disposition constantly shifted. 

Before he could find the words to reply, he found himself fixed with a stern look. “I fear I’ve kept you far longer than either of us intended. If she wakes, I will find you.”

All he could manage in response was a nod, and, with a final glance at Arais, Teagan left the room. He felt such a profound sense of confusion, and never had he been able to see what a man was feeling and still have no idea what it meant the way he did with Zevran. It would be infuriating, were he not so fascinated with how Zevran managed to pull it off.

His gait was heavy as he approached the quarters he shared with Eamon, and found himself alone in the sparse room. Sheets of parchment with hastily written missives were strewn haphazardly across the desk, and he sighed; Eamon seemed to be hard at work already. It was unlike him to leave his things in such disarray, and Teagan took it upon himself to straighten it up before his brother returned.

A familiar name in his brother’s uncharacteristically messy scrawl caught his eye, and Teagan lifted the letter. He had only just read the name and the curt demands in the first few sentences before he heard footsteps in the hall outside.

He turned and saw Eamon enter, his eyes fixed on an unrolled bit of parchment with a broken wax seal at the edge. He glanced up and stopped short when he saw Teagan; his eyes narrowed at the letter Teagan still held.

“I would appreciate it if you did not riffle through my belongings when I am not present,” Eamon chastised through pursed lips.

“I was merely straightening the mess you left.” Teagan placed the letter into Eamon’s now outstretched hand. “I had no intention of spying on your private missives.”

“Indeed?” Eamon looked up from the parchment, and eyed Teagan with no small amount of suspicion. “Then it's simply coincidence you held a letter from my guard captain as I came in?”

“Yes,” Teagan said, unflinching in the face of his own lie. 

Eamon sighed heavily. “I do wish you would not lie to me, Brother. I am no fool, despite what you may believe.” He sat in the chair at his desk. “I do wish you would leave your previous indiscretions in the past where they belong, and not allow history to repeat itself.”

_ Not allow history to repeat itself _ . Those words echoed as a gong would in his now aching head, and he bristled at the implication.

“I’m sure I have no idea what you mean,” Teagan said, careful to keep the irritation from bleeding into his voice. “You are making a remarkable number of assumptions based on a single coincidence.”

“Ah, so I should simply take you at your word?” Eamon narrowed his eyes. “I found you holding a letter I wrote to one of your many past lovers. Not just any lover, but the man you insisted I allow to rule beside you in Rainesfere, despite his status being little better than a commoner’s.” Eamon almost seemed to laugh at him. “Yes, dear brother, how could I have possibly doubted you?”

Teagan clenched his fists behind his back, and forced his expression to remain impassive. A million thoughts rushed through his mind, ways he could respond, but he was silent.

“You would do well to remember what I told you then.” Eamon leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled in front of his chest. “A sullied reputation is not worth risking on something as fleeting as love for your lesser.”

Teagan’s nostrils flared imperceptibly, and he could feel his anger begin to bubble over. Without a word, he left the room.

He heard Eamon call after him, but Teagan ignored him. If he didn’t leave now, he may very well lose his temper, tired as he was. He found himself brimming with pent up frustration, his chest tight, his breath caught in his throat. He ran his hand back through his hair; it wasn’t too late in the evening to find a soldier willing to spar, he was sure. Going back to his room now wasn’t an option.

With a resigned sigh, he headed for the barracks.

* * *

The air inside the royal estate was blessedly cool against Teagan's skin when he returned from the barracks. The late summer heat was insufferable even this late, and his tunic clung to a fresh layer of sweat which had formed during the short walk to the estate.

He rounded a corner and collided with a solid mass, his chin connecting with something hard enough to leave him dazed. It was only as the initial shock ebbed when he saw Zevran rubbing at his forehead.

“Maker's breath, Zevran, are you all right?” he asked. 

Zevran met his gaze, his own disorientation having faded. “Yes, I'm fine.” His lips quirked into a grin. “Though it will be difficult explaining how I came to have a bruise tomorrow, won't it?”

He rubbed a hand over his face, and an uncomfortable laugh reverberated in his chest. “I'm sorry, I should have paid better attention to where I was going.”

“It’s nearly midnight; where were you coming from?” Zevran asked. “I thought you were going to rest?”

“Yes, well, Eamon had other plans, it seems.” He ran his hand back through his hair, and his fingers snagged in knots he hadn't realized were there.. “Did Arais wake again?”

Zevran shook his head. “No, she is still resting. The nightmares seem to have passed for the time being, however. I was just going to the kitchens for tea.” He studied Teagan for a moment. “I would ask you to join me, but it seems you would rather clean up first.”

“That would probably be best,” Teagan replied, and he felt the corner of his lips twitch in an involuntary smile. 

He began to walk toward the servants’ quarters, but Zevran stopped him with a hand on Teagan’s forearm. “If you would prefer, you can use my quarters to bathe and rest.” He let his hand fall away. “I won’t be using them tonight.”

“That isn’t -” he paused when Zevran caught his gaze, and he was unsure how he felt about how well Zevran seemed to be able to pick up on his reluctance to be around Eamon. “I would appreciate that,” he said. “Are you certain it won’t be any trouble?”

“None at all.” Zevran stepped back. “I will send a servant with hot water, if one happens to be awake. Perhaps you will be able to relax in the meantime.”

This time it was Zevran who was stopped as he began to walk away, and he looked first at Teagan’s hand on his shoulder, then up into his eyes. 

“Thank you,” Teagan said.

Zevran nodded and again headed off in the direction of the servants’ quarters. Teagan watched him go, no less confused by Zevran’s actions than before, but now that confusion was accompanied by a growing respect for the depth of the man’s compassion. Perhaps it was borne of his friendship with Arais, but then again, she seemed to have that effect on people.

When Zevran disappeared around a corner, Teagan shrugged off his thoughts and headed toward the guest wing. He looked inside the room he shared with Eamon as he passed, and paused. Eamon sat at the desk, quill in hand; of course he had continued tending to business. His shoulders were slumped low where they were normally squared, and the quill moved between shaky fingers with slow, erratic strokes that were once quick and precise. 

Even now, the effects of the poison took their toll. While Eamon feigned recovery, Teagan was all too aware how far from healthy his brother was. Still, Teagan stopped himself from entering the room, from telling Eamon he should rest. Try as he might to convince his brother to delegate tasks to either himself or other advisors, Eamon would have none of it, and it was not an argument he was going to willingly walk into now. He’d had quite enough of Eamon for one day.

When at last he pushed his way into Zevran’s room, he sat on the bed and rested his elbows on his knees. Head bent forward, he heaved a sigh from deep in his chest. A low burning fire flickered in the hearth, but his eyes fixed on the ivory patterns weaving through the deep gold carpet beneath his feet. It took a moment before he realized the swirls of embroidery should not be moving as they were. 

He leaned back and rested his head against the pillow, and his eyes drifted shut, too heavy for him to resist. He couldn’t be sure how long he lay there before a gentle knock forced his eyes open. When his vision cleared, he saw Zevran standing in the doorway. 

“I thought you went to find a servant?”

“Didn’t I?” Zevran said as he entered the room and dropped into a chair near the hearth. “Nessa did come with water, but she was far too shy to wake you.”

“Wake -” Teagan blinked, and it only now struck him that he felt far more rested than when he closed his eyes. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up, rubbing the last of the sleep from his eyes with the heels of his palms. “Maker’s breath, I hadn’t realized I’d fallen asleep.”

Zevran’s chuckle vibrated from low in his chest, and he nodded. “For several hours, at that. Wynne only just returned to Arais and woke me.”

“Is everything all right?”

“Yes. Arais slept through the night, and continues to slumber; peacefully, if not being unceremoniously kicked in the middle of the night is to be any indication.” He smirked, and the light of a dying fire caught on a glimmer of fondness. “Wynne says she has only gotten stronger since last night. She will be fine, if a bit achy.”

He pressed his hands into his knees to find balance as his head spun. To at last have confirmation she would recover filled him with such a heavy sense of relief, and yet he felt dizzy. 

“I believe it would be my turn to ask if all is well,” Zevran said, his voice low with concern, though his ever present humor still lingered. 

Teagan nodded against his hands. “Yes, I’m fine. A bit lightheaded, but nothing to worry about.” He opened his eyes, and waited until he was sure the room would no longer move of its own accord before he lifted his head to give Zevran a reassuring smile. “It has been a long week.”

“Indeed it has,” Zevran agreed. “Though I suspect your reasons go beyond the events leading to the demise of the archdemon.” Teagan turned to find himself being scrutinized once again. Zevran pushed the door closed from his seat with a gentle shove, and waited for the latch to click before continuing. “You mentioned your brother earlier; I do not mean to be intrusive, but if you wish to speak of what happened, I am willing to listen.”

Teagan took a deep breath, smothering the spark of anger which threatened to ignite at the mere mention of Eamon. “I would say it was nothing, but I fear you wouldn’t believe that, no matter how much I wished it.”

“You would be correct; your cheeks flushed as soon as I mentioned your dear brother,” Zevran replied with a smirk. “But I will not push you. I understand if you would rather keep it private.”

“No, no, it’s . . . well, it’s probably something I should not keep to myself any longer, if I am unable to hide how I’m feeling.”

“Ah, yes, but I am trained to see even the subtlest of changes in one’s appearance. I can see what others would not.” Zevran leaned back in his seat and rested an ankle over the opposite knee. “You need not worry, though. Whether you continue or not, I will not mention it outside of these chambers.”

Teagan nodded. He was surprised by how easily he trusted Zevran. Eyebrows furrowed, he turned his gaze to the fire. He struggled to decide where he should begin. From the beginning would be quite a long story, but without context, Eamon’s actions now would make little sense. It seemed he had little choice in the matter.

He took a slow, even breath. “You know of my sister, Rowan, yes?”

“Nothing more than the stories of how the Occupation ended,” Zevran answered. “Though I did hear she passed rather young.”

“She did.” Teagan frowned. It had been some time since he thought of his sister. Funny that he struggled to remember her face in this moment. “I had only just been granted the bannorn of Rainesfere when she passed. I had hope she would be the one to guide me through the beginnings of such politics. But that was not to be, of course.”

He attempted to quell the sorrow which settled heavily in his chest. 

“As it was, Eamon was forced to be my aide through the difficulties I faced at the beginning, which began a pattern of Eamon involving himself more than was necessary. Some time later, when the public began to expect me to take a wife, Eamon took it upon himself to lead the search.

“Of course, I resisted. Even years later, I mourned the loss of my sister. I thought of what it would have been like to have her as my guide through the politics of marriage. And, being as young as I was, I rebelled against Eamon, and shirked every attempt he made to introduce me to prospective partners.”

“That explains why you still rule your bannorn alone,” Zevran observed, arms crossed over his chest. “But it seems typical of a young man to be resistant to outside influence in his love life.”

“I suppose it is, but this was about politics, not matters of the heart.” Teagan rubbed his hands over his face. “My resistance to Eamon’s attempts did not mean I was not . . . well, I suppose I wasn’t searching for a long term partner, but I had many affairs with lesser nobility whom Eamon had deemed unfit to rule beside me. Of course, I made minimal effort to hide this from Eamon, though rumors did not escape much further than the villages within my own bannorn.”

“And I take it Eamon did not react kindly to this behavior?”

“Of course not,” Teagan replied, with a small sigh, “but in my youthful rebellion, I did not care. I did not expect Eamon to begin to interfere in these affairs, however. He began having my servants report to him if I had any guests. If anyone he found suspicious visited Rainesfere, Eamon would conveniently visit, and somehow they would always be gone the next morning.”

There was movement from where Zevran sat, and Teagan turned to see he had shifted in his seat, his elbows resting atop his knees. “And that did nothing to end your escapades?”

Teagan shook his head with a bitter laugh. “Quite the contrary. I only grew more emboldened. I would visit the other nobility myself, those with whom I had been communicating by private letters delivered only by messengers I could trust. Eamon and I had a rather impressive row when he learned I slept with the bann of Waking Sea’s daughter. He had been attempting to arrange that match for almost two years, but neither of us were interested in a long term commitment.” A sharp pang of sadness stabbed at his heart. 

“Maker’s breath,” Zevran laughed. “Knowing you as you are now, none of this is what I expected to hear.”

“I hide my past well,” Teagan replied with a small smile, which lasted only briefly as another memory surfaced. “Eamon gave up on finding me a wife long ago, though not because he got tired of my resistance.” Teagan looked away again as his stomach twisted, tying itself in knots. “My last affair was more than just a passing fancy, more than just a way to while away the time as Eamon struggled to rein me in. 

“Zhaal was a guardsman in Rainesfere. He was a close confidante, someone with whom I had spent hours in the sparring chamber to keep my anger in check. He listened when I chose to speak rather than fight, and it just . . . it blossomed from there. I loved him. And, of course, Eamon learned of it. When I told him of my intentions, that I had found a partner to rule alongside me, Eamon . . .” He trailed off, unable to finish the thought. 

The ache in his heart was as severe as it had been then. 

The bed shifted as Zevran sat beside him. He placed a hand on Teagan’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “You needn’t continue,” he said.

“No, I . . .” He paused to take a breath to ease the pressure in his chest, to stop the moisture in his eyes from overflowing. “Eamon was . . . incensed. The way he yelled . . . it was nothing like it had ever been before, with the others. And when he finished, he stormed to the barracks and informed Zhaal he would be returning to Redcliffe with him. The look on Zhaal’s face when I didn’t . . . when I  _ couldn’t _ fight back . . .” His hands covered his face, his cheeks flushed. “I still haven’t forgiven myself for my inaction.”

He dropped his hands to his lap and stared down at the carpet. “I thought, after all these years, it would be easier. My brother has long since discredited himself, shown me his motivations are far from benevolent. And yet I still blame myself for what happened, and deserve no forgiveness.”

“From everything you’ve told me, that is the furthest thing from the truth.” Zevran squeezed his shoulder, his hold firm, which lured Teagan to turn to him. “It may be difficult to accept it, to move on, but has nothing changed in the many years since?”

“Of course some things have changed; nearly sixteen years have passed. Zhaal and I made our peace. He is captain of the guard now, and he has a husband. They even adopted an orphaned girl when the attacks on Redcliffe took her parents from her.” 

“And have  _ you _ loved no one since?”

“I don’t know.” His fingers pressed into his thighs, his nails biting into the skin beneath his trousers. “I convinced myself it was better if I didn’t. I didn’t know if I could again.”

Zevran’s eyes glimmered with empathy. “I believed the same of myself, once upon a time.”

“What changed?” Teagan asked, and grimaced. “If that is too forward of me, you need not answer.”

Zevran flashed a wry smile. “It is hardly forward, considering the matter we have been discussing. And to put it simply, a dear friend helped me realize it is I who decides my fate, not my past actions. She helped me see a future for myself, outside of a life bound to the Crows.” His expression turned wistful. “A remarkable woman, to be sure.” 

Teagan watched Zevran for a moment, and he saw in him something which hardly surprised him now. “You love her,” Teagan said, his voice quiet.

Zevran’s smile disappeared, and his gaze turned somber. He was silent for an achingly long moment before he answered. “Indeed, I do.” His lips quirked upward into an almost self-deprecating grin. “But I believe her heart leans toward another.”

“I . . . I see.” Brow furrowed, Teagan cast his eyes back to the fire. He wasn’t sure what to think. Did Zevran mean Arais may care for him? Or was there someone else about whom he was not aware? Much as he wanted answers - to  _ know _ \- he couldn’t bring himself to ask. So his conflicted gaze remained on the fire, his chest tight with uncertainty.

He started a bit when Zevran’s hand slid across his back, but relaxed when he pulled Teagan close to him. He was surprised, of course, but he leaned into the contact. Teagan felt an unexpected connection to Zevran, and he almost felt guilty, accepting comfort when Zevran needed it just as badly.

“Will you be all right?” Teagan asked.

Zevran’s chin rested atop Teagan’s head. “I believe so, in time. I only wish for her happiness.”

“A woman as remarkable as you described deserves no less.”

He felt Zevran nod beside him, and they fell into a comfortable silence. Zevran’s hand rubbed up and down Teagan’s arm, and the tension which remained in his body slowly melted away. He would not have expected speaking of Zhaal to be so cathartic, yet he felt lighter, as if a heavy burden had been lifted from his shoulders. 

That he spoke of it with a man whom he hardly knew was no less surprising, but he was glad he did. And he was not the only one who spoke of his pain; there was a sort of comradery there, even if they had not explicitly confessed their shared feelings were for Arais.

Even if he hadn’t wholly admitted his own.

The fire had dwindled to embers when Zevran pulled away, and Teagan felt an unexpected loss at the broken contact. He looked over to Zevran, who looked back with a small smile.

“I should return to Arais,” Zevran said. “I will send Nessa with hot water. Do try not to fall asleep this time; no matter how many times I tell her it will be fine, the poor girl will not be able to bring herself to wake you.”

Teagan nodded, but as Zevran moved to stand, he again stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

Zevran turned to him, and Teagan offered a firm “Thank you,” the only words he could think to say in a moment when he felt he needed to say something -  _ anything - _ to the man sitting beside him. 

“Anytime, my friend,” Zevran replied. “Truly.”

He rose from the bed and walked to the door, but not without a glance back in Teagan’s direction when he stopped at the threshold. The look they exchanged in that moment held a mutual understanding, one which acknowledged the bond they had formed.

It warmed Teagan’s heart to know he had an ally in this.

* * *

**_14 Solace, 9:31 Dragon_ **

“I wish you would wait a while longer.”

“Zevran, please,” Arais said. “I’ve been confined to this bed for weeks. I would like to take advantage of my headache passing.”

Teagan watched the two argue, suppressing a smirk at the petulant frown on Arais’ face. This was a side of her he had yet to see, and that Zevran was the one responsible was no surprise.

“Wynne, would you please help her see reason?” Zevran turned to Wynne, his expression pleading. “She only just began walking again five days ago! You said yourself she was too weak for prolonged exercise.”

“Indeed I did,” Wynne replied, an amused glint in her eyes. “But she has been taking walks with me since, longer each day. And the fresh air would not hurt her.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Of course you would side with her.” 

“I’m right here, you know,” Arais said with a huff. “And I feel  _ fine _ . I’ve been through far worse than a concussion. Need I remind you of the broodmother?”

Zevran shuddered. “I would rather you not.”

“Then trust me. I’ll be okay.”

“Who will accompany you?” he asked. “You shouldn’t go alone, and I am to meet with Shianni in the alienage to assess the damage and discuss arrangements for repairs.”

“I will go,” Teagan said, and everyone turned to him at once, almost surprised to find him still there. 

Arais in particular seemed perplexed. “You don’t have business to attend to?”

He shook his head. “News from Rainesfere has been positive. There was little damage from the Blight, and the seneschal is more than capable of managing on her own until I return.”

“Oh,” she said. “It’s good to hear Rainesfere did not suffer too much.” Her brow furrowed, but she shook her head a bit. “If that is the case, then I suppose it would be all right.” She glanced at Zevran. “That is assuming my unwanted guardian approves?”

“If you truly insist on doing this,” Zevran said, his shoulders slumped in resignation, “then yes. But know I still do not think this is a good idea.”

“You’ve made that plenty clear, my dear,” Wynne remarked with a smirk.

“Hmph.” Zevran turned to Teagan with a sigh. “You’ll take care of her,” he said. It was a statement, not a question, and Teagan might have been surprised had it not been accompanied by the knowing glimmer in Zevran’s eyes.

“Of course,” he replied.

“I’m going to be all right, Zevran,” Arais said. “Now, go. The alienage needs you more than I do.” His eyes narrowed and he opened his mouth, but closed it just as quickly when Arais cast him a glare. “Don’t you dare start up again.”

Teagan was taken aback by the ferocity of her words, yet Zevran seemed unfazed. Still, he raised his hands in surrender. “I will return in a few hours, then.” Zevran walked to the door, and as he passed Teagan, he gave a subtle dip of his chin, and offered an almost mischievous smirk.

What in the Maker’s name was that about?

Teagan brushed it off, chalking it up to his imagination, and moved to stand in front of Arais. “Ready?” he asked, hand outstretched.

She stared at his hand for a moment, her expression unreadable. “As I’ll ever be, I suppose.” She took his hand and allowed him to help her to her feet.

“Have fun, you two,” Wynne said as he led Arais to the door.

Arais smiled over her shoulder, and Teagan, about to respond, was silenced by Wynne’s expression. Her lips were turned up in an almost hopeful smile, but her eyes were hazy with concern. Wynne seemed confident in Arais’ progress, but perhaps she wasn’t quite as certain as she had led them to believe?

He shook himself from his thoughts and looked down at Arais. “Shall we?”

Her lips quirked upward, and she nodded.

“Where would you like to go?” he asked as they left the room, his hand placed tentatively on her back. He could feel her warmth through the thin cotton of her tunic.

Her brows furrowed in thought. “I’m not sure. Maybe the gardens? I haven’t seen them yet.” 

He hesitated, and though he did not believe it was for very long, she still seemed to notice. 

She frowned. “Is something the matter?”

“No,” he responded, perhaps too quickly. “No, not at all.”

She was silent for a moment. “Did the estate suffer damage during the attack?”

“The royal estate was well defended, and few darkspawn made it through. An ogre destroyed a sizeable portion of the ballroom, in the northeast corner, but that was the extent of the destruction.”

“And the gardens?” 

He paused, his mind wandering. It had been years since he had visited the royal gardens, and he hadn’t the willpower to check the damage himself; he’d sent a guard to do it when he had first arrived. He had only been a handful of times since Rowan had passed, as it was difficult to face her loss in one of her favorite places.

“Very little, from what I was told,” he answered. “Mostly the hedges to the north.”

“Are you sure you’re all right?” she asked. “You seem distracted.”

“Y-Yes, I am fine.” 

He looked ahead, and found he had unconsciously been leading them to the east wing, towards the gardens. It was a bit surprising he still remembered the route through the castle so well. He had spent quite a bit of time there himself, either alone or with Rowan, but still, it had been a decade since he had last gone, at least.

“We are almost there,” he said.

They turned one last time, into a corridor which passed the ballroom. It was a bit of a walk made in amiable silence before they reached the door to the gardens.

The light was bright, almost blinding when Teagan opened the door. Teagan squinted against it and turned his head away from the direct glare of the sun at high noon. Arais let out a soft gasp, and he noticed her eyes were shut tight.

“Are you all right?” he asked, hesitating.

“I will be.” She blinked rapidly. “It’s just been some time since I’ve been outside, and candlelight isn’t quite as bright as the afternoon sun.” 

“Here.” He took her hand and placed it in the crook of his arm. “I will guide you until your eyes adjust.”

She looked up at him, eyes wide, before her expression relaxed into a soft smile. “Thank you.”

“It is no trouble.”

She joined her hands at his elbow, and they walked in silence through the gardens. It was comfortable. Familiar. It amazed him how little the Blight affected the blooms. The lavender bushes which bordered the weathered brick path were thick and well kept. Yellow and white daisies cascaded across the flowerbeds, and rows of hibiscus rose in neat lines throughout. The rosy pink centers of the golden flowers drew out those of the Andraste’s Grace which peeked through the sea of white and yellow.

Arais’ gaze was constantly shifting, her mouth slightly agape. She stopped before a trellis of pale yellow nasturtium intricately tangled with deep purple cup and saucer, and he felt a sudden loss when she released his arm. 

She stood facing the flowers climbing the crossed, white wood and touched a gentle finger to a purple flower. “I’ve never seen a flower like this before.” She leaned forward the slightest bit, and he watched her shoulders rise as she inhaled. She almost seemed to giggle as she said, “They smell like honey.”

She turned around to face him, a small smile on her face. He almost didn’t respond, enthralled as he was by what was a such simple reaction to something new. 

He cleared his throat and took a step toward her. “That’s a cup and saucer. Isolde has quite a few of the vines in Redcliffe. I believe they are her favorite.”

Her eyes still explored her surroundings. “I’ve never seen a garden quite this beautiful.” She tilted her head to the side. “Well. if I’m being honest, the only other large garden I’ve seen is the one at Kinloch Hold. There were some flowers, but nothing like this. Only those used for poultices and the like.” Her eyes became distant, her smile wistful. “It was beautiful, in its own way. I wasn’t much of an herbalist, myself, but I used to help tend to it. Though Maker forbid anyone mishandle a plant; Ines would have our heads for it.”

He chuckled. “She sounds like quite the character.”

“There were many of that sort in Kinloch Hold,” she said. “Rumors in the Circle claimed Ines had made it through the apprentice’s . . . final exam using potions alo -” Suddenly her eyes lit up with recognition. 

She looked past him, almost searching, and he quirked an eyebrow. “Looking for something?”

“Mm,” she hummed, and it drew his attention to her lips. 

He was again reminded of the night before the forced march Denerim, and he had to pull his eyes away before the memory consumed him. He looked over his shoulder and saw a Circle mage who remained after the Blight before they disappeared around the corner. 

Arais remained silent for a long moment. A flash of disappointment crossed her face.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

“Oh,” she started, though her eyes remained on a spot in the distance. “It was nothing. I just thought . . .” Her frowned deepened, and she sighed. “I thought I saw Ines. She lives in Denerim, under templar supervision. Has for many years now. I was fifteen or so when she left Kinloch Hold.”

“Why did she leave?”

“I believe King Maric brought her here to tend to the royal gardens. It makes sense; she had been called here for years prior to leaving, even before I was brought to Ferelden. I can sense magic here, so it seems she has continued her work.” She looked down at her hands, now folded in front of her. “The rumors I heard in the Circle suggested she was called away permanently to preserve the garden as it had been when Queen Rowan passed on.”

Teagan’s chest tightened at the mere mention of his sister, and he took a closer look at his surroundings. He marveled at how achingly similar everything was to when he last saw it. He couldn’t be absolutely sure, but he could swear the only difference was the arrangement of some of the flowers, which could easily have happened after Maric was pronounced dead. And the elder trees at the middle of the garden were nearly the same height they had been ten years prior. He was sure if he walked beneath one, the branches would brush the top of his head as they had then. 

“She was your sister, wasn’t she?” Arais asked, pulling him from his thoughts.

His awe turned to melancholy, and he frowned. “Yes. She was the eldest.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for, Arais,” he said. “She passed just over twenty years ago. I still miss her, of course, but I’ve already made it through the worst of it.”

She bit her bottom lip, her eyes sad, yet thoughtful. When she released her lip, her now knowing eyes meeting his. “So, when you hesitated after I suggested we come here . . . ?”

“I haven’t been to here in quite a few years.” His lips turned up in a sad smile. “Maric was still king when I stopped coming to Denerim for more than official business. I suppose that must have been when Ines began her work here.”

“This garden  _ was _ special to Rowan, wasn’t it?”

“Indeed, it was. She came here as often as she could, usually to read.” His eyes drifted to the elder trees once more, and as he stared, a thought occurred to him. “There’s something I would like to show you, if you still feel well enough to go on?”

“I feel fine,” she replied.

Before he could offer, Arais took hold of his arm. For a moment Teagan wondered if she was truly well, but she was steady on her feet as they walked, and her eyes did not betray any tiredness. There was a placid smile on her face, and she was more relaxed than he could ever remember seeing her. She was radiant, and, for a moment, he lost his breath.

He placed his free hand over hers and forced his gaze forward. Teagan led her through the many twists and turns of the garden, a maze which had taken him years of childhood adventures to fully master. He had pushed his way through the shrubbery and carefully dodged the flora when he got lost, though somehow Rowan always knew when he had tread upon the flowerbeds.

He spotted the gap he had been looking for, just a narrow passage through the hedges. It was easily missed, if one didn’t know it was there, thought it wasn’t meant to be hidden. The shrubbery had always had that gap, as long as he could remember, and it never once closed over. 

He caught a glimpse of yellow and purple through the opening, and he stopped to show Arais. Arais, however, kept walking, and when she was stopped short, she wobbled on her feet. Her hands fell from Teagan’s arm, and he caught her by the waist and pulled her back before she fell. She stumbled into his chest, and the air left his lungs in a burst from the force of it.

Her breath came quick against his palms where they now rested over her ribs, and he focused on it, tried to match it as his own returned to him. She brought a hand up to her heart, her other hand tight on his forearm. She didn’t move for a long moment but for the rise and fall of her chest, and he held tight to her, all too aware of the warmth of her body against his.

Just as he found his breath, Arais pulled away rather abruptly, stepping forward on unsteady feet. She held her balance, however, and a moment passed before she turned to face him. Her expression would have been impassive if not for the anxiety glimmering in her silver eyes, iridescent in the sunlight. 

They were silent for some time, simply staring at one another.

Her mouth fell open, then closed again. She shut her eyes and inhaled deeply before she said, “I’m sorry,” through a long sigh. “I hadn’t realized you’d stopped.”

“I should be the one apologizing. I should have told you to stop myself.”

“Regardless, thank you,” she said, her eyes lit with good humor, though her lips were pursed. “For catching me, I mean,” she added quickly.

“Of course,” he replied. His smirked. “Besides, I hardly think Zevran would take kindly to you coming to harm under my watch.”

“You probably aren’t wrong.” She laughed softly before she caught his gaze with curious eyes. “What were you going to show me?”

He gestured to the hole in the shrubbery. “It’s through here.”

“I -” She stared, brow furrowed. “There’s a secret passage in the  _ garden _ ?”

“Yes,” he said around a chuckle. “Though I wouldn’t call it ‘secret’; simply difficult to find.” He beckoned for her to follow. “Come. This is hardly the best part.”

When Arais began to walk forward, he slipped through the gap. He held the branches which hung lowest off to the side, and bent down to offer her his hand. She took it before she ducked under his arm, and Teagan waited until she was clear of the opening before he allowed the branches to fall back into place. 

The brick path continued from where they entered, and she followed behind him. Lavender shrubs bordered the edges here as well, their fragrance more potent in the confined space created by the hedges. The sun was largely blocked by the shade of two elder trees on either side, though Andraste’s Grace shone through the shrubs like stars in a twilit sky. 

The sound of gently churning water grew louder as they approached a white arbor with vines of yellow trumpet and lilac. Teagan moved off to the side when he stepped beneath the arch, and waited for Arais to follow. 

She gasped when she entered the small courtyard, a hand against her lips.

A marble fountain stood at the center, streams of water spraying in elegant arcs from the upper two of three tiers. Sunlight rippled across the water’s surface and turned stray droplets of water into diamonds on the edge of the fountain. He followed her as she approached, and when she knelt to read the carving on the edge, he did as well.

_ Arl Rendorn Guerrin _ _  
_ _ May he be remembered, always _

“Rendorn Guerrin . . .” She turned to face him. “Your father?”

He nodded. “He passed in the Battle of West Hill during the Rebellion.”

“Oh.” She cast her eyes downward. “You must have been very young.”

“I was eight, though it had been years since I had seen him. My mother brought Eamon and I to Ansburg when Ferelden became too dangerous for us to remain.”

“You lived in the Free Marches?” she asked, now staring at him, surprised.

“For a time, yes.” He wondered at her reaction, and his eyes widened a bit at a sudden memory. “You were born in Kirkwall, yes?”

“I was. My mother spoke well of Ansburg, though it wasn’t a popular opinion among her friends.” She laughed, a sound as beautiful as it was surprising. “I hardly think they had room to speak. Kirkwall was a nightmare. All chains and fences resembling cages. And we were lucky to see sunlight for how often it rained.

“I remember Mother wanted to leave Kirkwall for Ansburg. She and Father had been discussing it before . . . well, it just didn’t work out, I suppose.” Her smile faltered, but remained, if a bit dulled. “I think I would have liked Ansburg. Mother would tell stories of when she and her cousin visited with my grandmother. I believe Grandmother was friends with the Margravine.” 

“Truly?” It was his turn to laugh. “Margravine Thalia was my aunt.”

She tilted her head to the side. “Thedas feels quite a bit smaller now,” she said, and a gentle smile played at the corners of her lips. “Were you close with your aunt?”

He nodded. “My mother passed when I was very young; most of what I know of her I only learned through other family. Thalia adopted Eamon and I when my father passed. She was the only mother I truly knew, though she told many stories of growing up with her sister.”

“Did she have any children of her own?”

“Two sons, yes. Percival is two years Eamon’s senior. Cador and I are nearly the same age; he’s only four months older. We were practically inseparable.” He smiled at the memory of his cousin. “We shared a nickname, close as we were.”

“What was it?” she asked.

He felt his cheeks threaten to turn a pale shade of a pink. “Would you believe me if I said it was ‘Trouble’?”

She stared at him for a moment, silent as the grave.

Then she burst into a fit of giggles.

It was in that moment he flushed for the first time in . . . Maker, he couldn’t even  _ remember _ the last time he had been truly embarrassed. Still, it was difficult not to be entranced by her laughter, and how she seemed to glow in the sunlight which passed through the trees overhead. Her nose wrinkled just the smallest bit above the long, slender fingers covering her mouth.

“I’m sorry,” she said, the words almost stuttered as she continued to chuckle. Her hand fell back to her side,  and she took a couple deep breaths. A moment later she had composed herself, though she still grinned. “It’s just . . . the word ‘trouble’ is one of the last I would use to describe you.”

He shook his head, in part to respond, but also to dispel the last of his distraction. “You would be surprised,” he said with a self-deprecating grin. “Cador and I were quite the menace. There was a time when the servants would check over their shoulders while going about their chores, wary of what we may be up to.”

“That’s difficult to imagine, knowing you as you are now. You’re so . . .” She furrowed her brow in thought. “So kind and well-mannered. What did you  _ do _ ?”

“A more accurate question would be what  _ didn’t _ we do,” he replied. “We snuck food from the kitchens right under the cook’s nose, put rashvine powder in Eamon and Percy’s beds, loosened the legs on dining chairs. We even set the falcons loose in the yard once; it took them hours to return them all to the mews.”

“Maker’s breath,” she laughed. “Care to share anything else, or was that the worst of it?”

“Far from it,” he said with a smirk. “I think the worst prank was the one we pulled when Rowan came to visit for the first time. Thalia was having a small get together with friends she knew she could trust with Ferelden’s new queen. Cador and I decided it would be a novel idea to plug up the fountains in the gardens so they would flood over.

“Unfortunately for those in long gowns, it was a resounding success. My aunt was furious, more so than I had ever seen her. I suppose it was Rowan’s presence which made it so; Thalia must have thought I, at least, would behave myself for the sister I had yet to meet until then.”

“What happened after?”

“Cador and I were scolded, of course,” he said, surprised by her continued interest. “I hadn’t realized how upset Rowan was until Thalia pointed it out. It didn’t occur to me until years later just how desperate she had been to reconnect with the little family she had left after Father died.

“What we thought would be a harmless prank turned the tide of the gathering. Most guests left, understandably angry, while Thalia glared daggers at me as she spoke to one of her close friends. It was quite terrifying, if you knew my aunt. She was very soft-spoken and amiable, but Maker forbid you earn her ire.”

“That sounds an awful lot like you.” Her eyes went wide, and she covered her mouth. When she again spoke, the words were slightly muffled. “Maker, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have - That is a lot for me to assume.”

“You needn’t worry. I took no offense.” He took the hand resting over her mouth and gently urged it back to her side. His fingers lingered against her skin, longer than he intended, and he cleared his throat as he pulled them away. “I do wonder why you believe so, however.”

She pursed her lips together in thought, and her eyes betrayed her nerves. She was silent for a long moment, and he wondered if she might not answer. Prepared to changed the subject, he was interrupted by a deep inhale before she spoke at last.

“When we first met, the measures you took to protect your brother’s people spoke to your compassion and kindness, as did the danger you put yourself in to help Isolde. You entrusted your family’s safety to me and my companions, though you hardly knew all but one of us.” 

She stopped to take another breath - this one shakier than the last - and there was a brief flash of pain in her eyes. “Then you learned of what Isolde did to keep Connor’s magic secret, and that she was ready to sacrifice herself for him - I think that was the first time I saw you angry.

“And then there was the night before we marched on Denerim,” she continued, cheeks flushed.

“Any anger I saw from you before was brief. You had made your opinions clear, but were able to focus without letting it consume you. Then I heard you shouting at your brother; I honestly had not thought you were capable of it.” She gave a sort of half smile. “And then you left the room, saw me, and it was as if you hadn’t been vexed at all.”

She fell silent then and turned her eyes upon the fountain. He followed her gaze, unsure what to say. Ripples radiated in the water as she traced shaky fingers along the surface, and he noticed a trail of ice followed the path her fingers took. It melted quickly in the summer heat, but she was undeterred, drawing an aimless line of glittering crystals upon the clear water. It was mesmerizing, and he found himself not  _ wanting _ to speak, though he knew he should.

He thought of what she said, and slowly, the words came to him. “I never knew you thought so highly of me,” he said. 

Her hand hesitated, but she continued the motion a moment later. “I can’t possibly be the only one.”

“Arais . . .” At the mention of her name, her hand froze. He reached a hand up to her cheek and gently turned her head to face him. “It means much more, coming from you.” 

There was palpable tension as his fingers rested upon her cheek, but he remained still. She seemed to lean forward, so little he hardly noticed, but then she pushed herself to her feet and crossed to one of the benches. Her arms were folded in front of her, and when he stood and walked up behind her, she went rigid. 

He stopped, at least an arm’s length of space between them.

The trellis wrapped with snow white climbing roses and violet hydrangea framed her body, set behind the bench as it was. Were it not for what had happened, he might have thought she was simply appreciating the flowers as she had earlier. All he could do now was watch from a distance and wait. But as the silence stretched on endlessly, he felt the urge to say something,  _ anything _ to help her feel at ease.

“I . . . never did finish telling you of what happened when Rowan visited Ansburg.” She didn’t move, didn’t speak, so he continued. “I knew the only way to earn Thalia’s forgiveness was to apologize. Not to her, but Rowan. She had disappeared into the gardens with two women who had accompanied my aunt’s friend to Ansburg, so I followed her.

“When I found her, she was crying on a bench, the women who had gone with her sitting on either side.” He rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. “I believe that was the first time I felt guilty for a prank, because I had genuinely hurt someone. I almost turned back, I was so ashamed of myself.”

Arais’ shoulders had relaxed some, but still, she faced away from him.

He sighed. “One of the women noticed me before Rowan did, and I swear, the look she gave me could cut through steel,” he said, and almost shivered at the memory. “It terrified me almost as much as my aunt did when she was angry. And this woman - Leandra, I think her name was - hadn’t even spoken.”

“Wait,” Arais said, and turned abruptly. “Leandra?”

He stared, wide eyed, and nodded his head. “Yes, I believe so. Why?”

“The other woman with her,” she started, her eyes almost pleading, “was her name Revka?”

“I-That sounds familiar, yes. How did you know?” 

Her hand came up to her chest, and suddenly there were tears in her eyes. “Your aunt’s friend’s name was Corinna, right?”

“Arais, what’s wrong? How do you know this?” He took a step forward, but she held up her other hand to stop him. “Arais?”

“Corinna Amell was my grandmother. Leandra was her niece.” She choked out a sob, and fell heavily on the bench. “Revka was Corinna’s daughter. My . . . my mother.” 

She covered her face with her hands, and, for a moment, all he could do was stare. She had said Thedas felt a bit smaller, but this was hardly a bit. In a single conversation, it had shrunk to the size of Denerim. 

Her shoulders started to shake, and he crossed to the bench to sit beside her. She didn’t react, didn’t give even the slightest indication she noticed, and when he put a gentle hand on her back, she fell into him. Her face pressed against his chest, and an arm gripped at his side. He tightened his hold on her, one hand firm at her waist while the other tangled in her hair.

For many long moments he could only listen to her cry; no words of comfort he could offer would be adequate. He simply held her until the quaking of her body ebbed, and she began to relax in his arms. She sniffled as her breathing returned to normal, and though he expected her to pull away then, she remained. He rested his chin upon her head and stroked her hair; when she slid closer to him, he stiffened, their thighs touching as she almost seemed to nuzzle into his chest.

He relaxed under the warmth of her palm as it slid from his side to his chest. 

“My mother never told me she knew Queen Rowan,” she said, her voice muffled. “I suppose in time she might have, but . . . she never got the chance.” She took a shaky breath. “Maker, I miss her.”

“Can you contact her now that the Blight has ended?” he asked.

She shook her head. “She-When I was sixteen, I received a letter from Thrask. My mother had . . . passed away.” Her hand clenched into a fist against his chest. “I lost everything when I learned of my magic, and now I have no hope of getting it back.”

His heart seized in his chest, and he couldn’t think of how to respond. All he could do was wait. Her body shuddered with each breath, and she brought a hand up to wipe at her face with her sleeve. He held her in the quiet courtyard, rubbing slow circles on her back as the silence stretched on endlessly. 

“What happened when you apologized?” she asked. 

He almost didn’t hear the question, for how quietly she spoke it, and it took a moment to realize what she was referring to. “Rowan was quiet for a long time,” he started. “Leandra still looked angry, but . . . but your mother appeared more sympathetic.”

She sat up, though she remained close to him. “That sounds like Mother. She was kind to a fault, and always chose to see the best in people. She balanced Leandra’s cynicism.”

“I certainly understood that at the time.” 

Her eyes were curious as she looked upon him. “How so?”

“When I first apologized, Leandra doubted my sincerity, and made that abundantly clear when she began chastising me.” He offered a small smile. “I do hope you never experienced that side of her yourself. It was far from pleasant.”

He earned a chuckle for that, and she shook her head. “I didn’t. I was a quiet child, and didn’t cause much trouble. My father, however . . . she made him regret his poor sense of humor more than once. That I remember her at all is a testament to the strength of her character, considering she left Kirkwall when I was only five.”

“Why did she leave?”

“I’m not entirely sure. My family didn’t take it well, but I was too young to understand why. That’s why Mother decided to remain in Kirkwall; she had hoped Leandra would return one day.” A frown pulled at her lips, but it was brief. “How did you fare from her lecture?”

“Better than I would have had your mother not intervened.” She lifted an eyebrow, and he shrugged. “Revak said I was only a child, and could not have known the effect my prank would have. She was wrong, of course. I knew people would be upset. I simply didn’t expect the reaction to be so extreme. She gave me far more credit than I deserved. ” He shook his head. “It did end Leandra’s tirade, however, so it was appreciated.

“After Revka defended me, Rowan asked both women to leave so she and I could speak privately. I had never been so nervous in my life as I was then. I knew nothing of my sister’s temperament, so I couldn’t even begin to predict what would happen.” His expression turned somber. “Imagine my surprise when she embraced me, and started crying again.”

“It’s not so surprising. She hadn’t seen you in almost a decade.” Arais reached down and took his hand. “I’m sure she was just happy to see you again, after so long.”

“I suppose so.” His gaze fell to their joined hands, and he smiled, just a little. “We talked for hours afterwards. She asked so many questions, and only stopped when the sun began to set.

“She stayed with us in Ansburg for nearly a month. I knew Eamon was to return with her to fulfill his birthright, but she spent more of her time with me. The servants were no doubt grateful, because if Cador and I were not together, they needn’t worry about falling victim to our mischief.”

His eyes fixed on the ground. “I found myself growing anxious as the day she was to leave grew closer, because I didn’t know how long it would be until I could see her again. The morning before Rowan’s departure, we were at breakfast when she asked if I would return to Ferelden with her.”

“Did you?” she asked.

He looked up to Arais and found her gaze fixed on him. “I did. It wasn’t an easy decision, but we had grown so close, I was afraid I might never see her again.” He frowned. “Cador was upset, of course. He was more of a brother to me than Eamon. Rowan arranged for him to stay in Denerim during the summers, to make it easier for both of us.”

“I’m sure the servants at the royal palace were thrilled,” she said with a wry grin.

He laughed. “Indeed, they were not. The seneschal still doesn’t trust me.”

“Einsley?”

“The very same. He’s been the seneschal for the palace since Maric took the throne. If you’ve ever wondered why he is always on edge . . .” he trailed off with a smirk.

“Maker,” she laughed, “you really were trouble.” Arais still seemed distracted, her eyes solemn, and she turned away from him to look around the courtyard. “I can understand why Rowan loved it here. It’s incredible.”

“It is.” He took it in himself, having not had a proper chance since they arrived. “The botanist you mentioned . . . Ines? She does phenomenal work here. It looks almost exactly as it did the last time I saw it.”

“Does it?” Her lips were pursed, her eyes contemplative. “Even I didn’t believe magic was capable of so much.” She smiled softly. “Then again, if anyone could manage such a feat, it would be Ines.”

He nodded, and a comfortable silence fell between them. A soft breeze whispered through the courtyard, carrying with it the aroma of so many flowers. There was a sea of purple planted beyond the lavender, a gradient of salvia, catmint, sage, and phlox. They swayed gently, and the border of lilies, both white and yellow, brushed across the hedges against which they were planted. 

“I’ve never seen so much Andraste’s Grace in one place, before,” Arais said suddenly. “When I was traveling, Leliana mentioned how rare it was. I only found a dozen during the entirety of the Blight.”

“It’s true; they are rare. They were Rowan’s favorite, however, and there was nothing to keep Maric from doing what he could to add them to the gardens. It took quite a while for the gardeners to cultivate so many, and they had only just finished moving the blooms to this courtyard when Rowan fell ill.” 

He bit the inside of his cheek to ward off the tears suddenly welling in his eyes. “Before she could no longer leave her bed, she insisted on being brought here everyday. I would accompany her, as would Maric, when he could. Cailan would trail after us, most days, unaware of the state his mother was in. He would often play in the fountain, much to his tutor’s chagrin.

“Those days were what made it so hard to return when she passed. For years, I couldn’t bear to relive the memories being here would awaken.” Her hand tightened around his, and he turned to her. “I apologize. I don’t mean to be so melancholy. I suppose I haven’t moved on quite as much as I thought.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” she said. She touched her fingers to his cheek. “Will you be okay?”

“I believe so, yes.” His lips turned up in a small smile. “Thank you for listening. It has been many years since I spoke of my sister, and it means a great deal to me.” He paused, pondering his next words before he continued. “You are incredibly easy to talk to.”

Her cheeks flushed. “As are you. I’ve only ever told Wynne about my mother, and it was nice to learn something new about her, even if . . . even if it’s something she can never tell me herself.”

It was then he realized her hand was still upon his cheek. He waited, expected her to break the contact, but her hand remained. Again, he felt that pull to her from earlier, and from the night before the march.

The one he had felt almost as soon as he’d met her. 

He leaned forward, just a bit. Enough for her to notice, enough so she could pull away if she wanted, but she didn’t. Her gaze fell to his lips before meeting his again, and when she smiled, it was all he needed. He closed the distance between them, captured her lips in a brief kiss not unlike the one they previously shared. However, when he began to pull back, she followed, her hand more firm on his cheek.

He melted into her, and the taste of peppermint consumed him. It was all he could do to remember to breathe. He released her hand to tangle his in her hair. She placed hers over his heart, clutched the fabric of his tunic in her fingers to pull him closer. Her teeth grazed his bottom lip and he shivered, opening up to her. The world was spinning around him, and he took hold of her waist to keep his balance.

Maker, but he couldn’t get over just how right this felt, and as the hand at his cheek slid back to grip his hair, he sighed into her mouth. He was so lost in the feel of her, he nearly jumped clear out of his skin when the flowerbed behind him jostled violently. He pulled away from Arais, breathing hard.

“What is it?” she asked between soft gasps.

“I . . . I thought I heard someth-”

He was cut short by a soft mewl as the flowers rustled again. He turned to see the catmint shaking, and a pair of reflective green eyes peeked out from the plumes, followed by a bushy gray tail. Suddenly, a cat pounced above the surface with an excited trill, and disappeared just as quickly. Even from so far away, he could hear them purring, their paws sticking out of the catmint as they rolled over.

Arais giggled beside him, and he glanced over his shoulder to see her stand, her eyes fixed on where the cat was playing. “They look very entertained. I’ve never seen a cat play in flowers quite like that.”

“This happens rather often,” he said, rising to follow her to the flowerbed.

“Does it?” she asked.

He nodded, kneeling in front of the lavender. “That flower is catmint,” he said, and pointed to a pale purple flower, the small petals rising above one another to form a cone. “Rowan had it planted to attract cats. She would have the servants fill shallow basins with food so the cats would be cared for. It was for the strays, mostly, but cats with homes would come as well.”

“That’s rather sweet,” she said.

He glanced over his shoulder to see her soft smile, her lips still slightly swollen. He stood, brushing off his knees as he stared at the rustling catmint. The cat poked their head out and stared at Teagan for a moment, head tilted to the side, before they mewled and ducked back into the flowers. He chuckled, memories of the many other cats he had seen in the courtyard playing in the back of his mind.

Arais placed a hand on his shoulder, a gentle tug urging him to face her. When he met her gaze, he saw a sad sort of uncertainty there, though still she smiled. She didn’t speak, simply stepped forward until there was hardly space between them at all. He held his breath, unsure of what she would do, fighting every instinct urging him to close the distance himself. Her hand came up to caress his cheek, a soft touch which brought warmth to his face, and he closed his eyes, leaning into the contact.

“Teagan,” she whispered, the sound so like the breathy sigh from when she first woke up, he felt weak.

Then she kissed him again, and the ground seemed to quake beneath him. He wrapped his arms around her waist, dimly aware she was nearly lifted from the ground when he did. This was different, more intense, and he held her tight, for the fear of what might happen if he let her go. Her arms snaked around his neck, body flush against his. His nails dug into the skin of her back when she twisted his hair between her fingers, his breath escaping in a low groan.

She pulled away suddenly, hands sliding to his shoulders. He lowered her to the ground, and she laid her forehead against his chest, her breathing labored. 

There was a soft trill, and Teagan saw the cat had come to sit beside Arais. Only now did he notice just how big they were. Long and tall, their thick, ashy gray fur only served to make them appear larger than they already were. He couldn’t remember having seen a cat quite so large before.

They mewled again and lifted a paw to tap at Arais’ leg. She didn’t react, and it was then Teagan realized she had yet to move.

“Arais?” 

She was silent, and the cat rose onto their hind legs, both front paws now on Arais’ calf.

She shifted in Teagan’s arms slightly. “Hmm?”

He brought a hand up to lift her chin, and when he saw her eyes, they were glassy and vacant. “Arais, what’s the matter?”

“Dizzy,” she mumbled. “M’all right. Need to sit.”

“You are far from all right,” he said, brushing his thumb along her jawline, “but I do agree you need to sit down.”

She only nodded in response, her eyes drifting shut and slow to reopen. He turned her slowly, careful to keep an arm tight around her waist as he led her to the bench. He helped her sit before he did himself, a firm grip on her at all times. When she was settled, her hand slipped into his.

“Thank you,” she said, her words slurred, though less so than before.

Her head settled against his shoulder, eyes closed. Though her brows pinched together and her lips turned into a deep frown, her breathing had evened some. Still, concern weighed heavy in his gut, and he felt responsible for causing her to overexert herself. He shouldn’t have allowed this to happen.

There was a pressure on his knee, and he found the cat standing in front of him. He was unsettled by how the cat stared up at him, unblinking. They lowered themselves back to the ground, and startled Teagan when they jumped up and landed with a gentle thud on his lap. 

Almost as soon as they took up their perch on Teagan, they nuzzled into Arais’ hand - the one he held in his. Teagan might have shooed the animal away, were it not for Arais’ soft giggle. Her eyes opened just a bit, and she reached over with her free hand to scratch behind the cat’s ear.

“You’re a sweetheart, aren’t you?” she murmured.

The cat answered with a soft chirp and crawled over to Arais, pushing their head into her chest.

She laughed. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Intense purrs followed as the cat curled into a ball on her lap, their size causing them to hang over the edges of Arais’ thighs. Arais stroked their back slowly, and their eyes drifted shut, content to be pampered.

“You seem to have made a new friend,” Teagan said, reaching over to rub beneath the cat’s chin.

“Mm. I adore cats, and they’ve always seemed to take to me rather quickly.”

“I can see that.” He lifted his hand to her cheek so she would face him. “How are you feeling?”

“Better.” Her smile was tired, but she appeared to be back to herself. “I’m sorry for worrying you. Especially given my . . . timing,” she said, cheeks flushed.

“No need to apologize.” He dropped his hand to his thigh. “My only concern is your well being. We should probably return to your room so you can rest properly.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Her expression turned rather serious. “Promise me one thing?”

“What is that?” he asked, eyebrow raised.

“Don’t tell Zevran about the dizzy spell,” she said, her face twisted into a grimace. “If he finds out, it will be another week before I leave the palace again, at the very least.”

“I do believe you’re right about that. Very well, it will be our secret. Now,” he began, “let us make our way back.”

She lifted the cat from her lap and placed them on the ground, but not without receiving a petulant mewl. She took the hand he offered, and when she wrapped her hands around his elbow and they began to walk away, there was a loud trill behind them. Before they could cross beneath the arbor, the cat trotted ahead and turned. They looked miffed, head tilted to the side and eyes narrowed.

“I believe they want us to stay,” Teagan laughed.

“It would appear so.” Arais knelt down and the cat immediately ran up to her and placed their front paws on her thighs. “You aren’t going to allow us to leave unless you can come with us, are you?”

A loud mewl followed by deep, rumbling purrs was their response.

“Somehow, I’m not surprised. You aren’t the first pet to choose me, rather than the other way around.” She paused. “I hope you like dogs.” 

Stepping fully into her lap, they propped their front paws on her shoulders to nuzzle her cheek.

She giggled. “That tickles, you know.” 

They touched their nose to hers and purred louder.

She shook her head, incidentally brushing her nose against theirs. “Well, if you’re going to come with me, you’ll need a name. I’ve never been very good at naming pets, though.”

“That’s not true,” he said, and she looked up at him, head tilted to the side. “I’ve always thought Barkspawn was a rather clever name.”

“It is,” she said with a slight frown. “I didn’t name him, however. Barkspawn was Alistair’s idea.”

“Oh.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I apologize.”

“It’s all right. You couldn’t have known.” The smile she offered seemed forced, and she turned away. She lifted the cat into her arms, and Teagan stepped forward, helping her to her feet. The cat rested their head on her shoulder as she scratched the back of their neck.

He struggled to find a way to cut through the awkward silence, and in his haste, he blurted, “What about Broodmeowther?”

“I-What?”

“Broodmeowther. For the cat.”

She stared at him for a moment, bewildered. Her eyes were wide, and her mouth hung just slightly agape. 

Then she burst into laughter. 

“Maker’s breath,” she said, “and I thought I was bad at naming pets.”

“It isn’t as if I’ve had much experience, myself,” he said, arms crossed over his chest. “It was the first thing to come to mind.”

“Yes, well, aside from the fact that it might further traumatize Zevran,” she began with a smirk, “it’s terrible. Though I suppose it’s no more ridiculous than I believed Barkspawn was when I first heard it.”

“If that is how you feel, I invite you to offer another suggestion.” He smirked. “They are your cat, after all.”

She furrowed her brow. She was quiet for a long moment, eyes unfocused as she searched her surroundings. Her hand stroked the cat absently, a thoughtful tilt to her head.

“Catmint,” she said a moment later. “That is how they found me, after all.” 

“True enough.” He stepped behind her and bent down to stare the cat in the eyes. “A pleasure to meet you, Catmint.”

Catmint reached out and tapped Teagan on the nose with their paw.

He laughed. “Does that mean the feeling is mutual?”

They mewled in response.

“Good, I am glad.” He moved to Arais’ side and slid his arm around her back, hand at her waist. “Ready?”

She nodded, and they crossed underneath the arbor.

* * *

When they returned to her room, Zevran and Wynne were there talking. They looked over as Teagan and Arais crossed the threshold, and their eyes fell to the cat she still held in her arms. Zevran looked at her, brows raised, while Wynne seemed to be holding back a laugh.

Catmint squirmed a bit in her arms, and she bent down to let them go. They immediately ran to Zevran and hopped on his lap, mewling in his face.

“Hello to you, too,” he said with a surprised chuckle. “And who are you?”

“Catmint,” Arais said, and Teagan again felt that sense of loss as she crossed to the bed and sat beside Zevran. “They were playing in a patch of it in the gardens when we found them.”

“Or, rather, when they found us,” Teagan said, moving to stand by the bedpost. “They were rather insistent about returning with us.”

“Is that so?” Wynne replied, and looked to Arais. “I recall you telling me something similar about Barkspawn.”

Arais nodded. “He imprinted on me at Ostagar. Now it seems I have two animals who have done so.” She scratched Catmint’s chin, and they crawled over to her, curling up on her legs. “I don’t mind, but I wish I understood why this happens.”

“Oh, the answer to that is rather simple,” Zevran said. “You are terribly easy to like,  _ carina _ .”

“I highly doubt that’s it, but thank you.” She began to giggle, but she covered her mouth when it quickly turned into a yawn. “I believe I could use a nap.”

“It would seem so,” Wynne said. “However, before you do, I would like to make sure you haven’t overexerted yourself. You were gone several hours longer than we anticipated.”

“I spent most of it off my feet,” Arais began with yet another yawn, “but if it would ease your mind, by all means.”

“Oh, I am sure you’re all right.” She glanced at Zevran and smirked. “This is for Zevran’s benefit more than my own.”

Zevran huffed. “Must you tease me?”

“It is only fair, considering your behavior during the Blight,” she said with a stern glare.

He threw up his hands. “Fine. You win.”

Wynne’s chuckle betrayed her good humor.

Teagan, who looked on with an amused smile, finally spoke. “If everything is settled, I will take my leave,” he said with a bow, and headed for the door.

“Teagan, wait,” Arais called, and he turned to face her. “Thank you, for everything.”

“Anytime, Arais,” he replied, but didn’t immediately turn to leave.

They shared a long, significant look, and he found it difficult to look away. She was smiling, but he noticed a sort of sadness there. Still, he saw something in her eyes, something he was certain reflected in his own.

Hope.

“I will return in the morning,” he said, and this time when he turned to leave, she did not speak, nor did anyone else. 

He walked down the short corridor leading to his quarters, his mind occupied by thoughts of the afternoon he spent with Arais. Not since Zhaal had it been quite so easy to lose himself in conversation, and that fact brought forth conflicting emotions. He wasn’t sure he would ever be able to fully forgive himself for what he had done, but after this afternoon, he _ was _ sure of one thing. He had, unbeknownst to himself, moved on.

He rounded the corner, but hesitated when he found Eamon at the opposite end. Eamon looked like he was poised for an argument, his shoulders tensed and his eyes narrowed. This was the last thing Teagan wanted to deal with at the moment. He made to walk past Eamon, but when Eamon managed to secure eye contact, he found himself trapped in the inevitable row walking toward him.

“There you are,” his brother said, his tone dark. “Where have you been?”

“With Arais.” Teagan set his lips in a firm line. “Wynne believed she was ready to leave the palace, and I accompanied her on a walk through the gardens.”

There was a brief silence, during which Eamon fixed him with a steady glare. “You’ve been acting highly improper since the archdemon was slain, Brother. I do wish you would learn to control yourself.”

“What, exactly, is improper about showing concern for the woman who saved your life?” The words came out with a sharp bite to them, his patience already worn thin. “I thought even you capable of gratitude for the woman who not only saved your life, but the lives of your wife and child as well.” He folded his arms across his chest. “It appears I was mistaken. You may take issue with my appreciation for her efforts, but you are in no position to tell me what is appropriate.”

Eamon’s nostrils flared, and the skin above his beard was tinged a vibrant pink. “I am your brother, Teagan.” There was a grit to his voice which suggested he spoke through clenched teeth. “I expect a certain level of respect from you. I will not sit by while you risk your reputation on an infatuation with a mage who has no regard for the traditions of this country.”

“This isn’t an  _ infatuation _ ,” Teagan bit out, and now he was in Eamon’s face, their noses near to touching. His fingers curled into fists at his side, and he forced himself to release them, to keep his temper in check. “I love her, Eamon, and if I’m ever lucky enough to have those feelings returned, the Maker himself would not be able to keep me from her.” 

He inhaled deeply, and fell back to a comfortable distance, hands folded behind his back. He stared at Eamon with a placid expression, his chin held out in defiance. “I would think you of all people would understand love in the face of adversity. Were you not the man who married an Orlesian woman when Maric had only just ended the Occupation?”

Decades of his brother’s hypocrisy had finally tipped Teagan over the edge, and he was sure it was never Teagan’s reputation about which Eamon had ever been worried. Stone faced, he felt nothing but ire for his brother as he registered Eamon was now a brilliant shade of red. Eamon’s lips fell apart, but closed again, and it seemed he was unable to form a response.

“Anora has been gracious, allowing you to stay in the estate despite your condescending attitude. Both now and before you attempted to dethrone her.” Teagan all but scowled. “You would do well to watch how you behave in her home,”-he lifted his chin-“ _ My Lord _ .”

He pushed past Eamon, and made a decided effort not to do more than walk briskly down the hall, past their shared quarters until he was out of his brother’s view. He found his way to the kitchens easily, and was grateful to find himself without company as he felt the anger tearing at his insides. 

He felt raw, like he had been drawn over a bed of nails, and left vulnerable to this by simply allowing Eamon to have this kind of influence over his feelings. An insufferable hypocrite to the last, it seemed Eamon would never believe he couldn’t control those around him. 

As he paced in front of the cooking fire, his thoughts shifted to Rowan, to what she would have thought of this situation. She had told him true love was rare, and if he ever found it, to hold onto it. There had been an undercurrent of sadness when she said it, but she was steadfast in her belief. She had given no exceptions, and it was that which made him believe, in this moment, she wouldn’t have given a damn about Arais’ magic, or her status. If Rowan were alive, this wouldn’t even be an issue.

Sixteen years he wasted allowing Eamon to flaunt his influence over his life. Sixteen years he wasted agreeing with everything Eamon said to maintain their already strained relationship. Sixteen years he wasted denying himself love or any sort of happiness. 

Teagan was quite finished taking into account his brother’s opinion on his romantic endeavors. This was worth it,  _ Arais  _ was worth it, and no bastard brother of his would stand in his way.

**Author's Note:**

> Shout out to jarebear20 and Merlinda_Dragon for taking on this monster. A year and half of my life spent on trying to get this out of my system, and they patiently put up with me yelling about it. They are saints.
> 
> And another shout out to purplebloodedmajesty on tumblr for the prompt that inspired this:
> 
> "Cheiloproclitic - Being attracted to someone’s lips."
> 
> This is far more than the ficlet she was anticipating.


End file.
